


refuge

by Withpetals_withblood



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Possession, Salvation, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withpetals_withblood/pseuds/Withpetals_withblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles," he spits the name, chokes on it, listens to the wheeze of blood soaking the walls of his lungs and god- fuck, he doesn't want to fucking die. There wasn't time to stop him and it was stupid, it was so god damn stupid because Derek had ran in there thinking that he could get him back,  that he was the one who could fish him out of the black hole that seemed to cultivate inside the young man that he once called home. </p><p>But all that came out of it was a sword plunged through his body and eyes that belonged to a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	refuge

"Did you trade Neptune for those eyes?" Stiles' voice was thick like syrup settled at the bottom of a snow cone and he gazed at Derek lazily, half-lidded on the floor of his bedroom. The carpet was warm and afternoon light poured in from between the blinds, splintered along the curves of the teenagers jaw, disrupted the pattern of his flesh and dismantled the wolf from trailing his eyes like cinders up and down the length of his throat. 

It was Spring break and Stiles hadn't been too shy about inviting Derek over, hadn't been too bashful about blowing smoke between the man's lips when they kissed. Derek had been an alpha then- the days when he didn't know earth from sky or trees from asphalt. Back when death seeped out of his pores and infected the ones he loved like a virus. 

Did you trade Neptune for those eyes?

Derek remembered smirking, saw the light flare in whiskey dipped optics and shook his head because the silence was too pretty to break with his voice and Stiles was doing such a good job at shattering it himself. 

Soft upturned lips. Long bony fingers. A playful smile. 

The pads of his fingers felt like spider webs ghosting along Derek's forearm but he didn't move away, just waited for them to melt like snowflakes into his skin and hummed when Stiles lifted up, "Did he take the water from your veins and let forests come to life inside you?" 

Something fluttered like a bird inside his chest and Derek grinned, huffed a laugh when Stiles draped himself across his torso and leaned down to breathe against the dry worn out lips that Derek offered to him so easily, "I bet he said people would get lost in the jungle he'd put in place of all that water, bet he didn't think they'd wanna stay."

The kiss was easy and slow. Derek will never forget it.

"When did you get so poetic?" the alpha mumbled when Stiles turned his head and pressed his mouth just below his ear.

They laughed and laughed and laughed after that and Derek would never forget it.

Especially now, with the concrete biting through his jeans, cold against his kneecaps. Now, in the evening after the sun had left them alone to hide from the boogeyman and after the boogeyman had found them. 

It was now that Derek looked up and found himself sucking in breath after breath, hands shaking, stomach clenching. A rod iron sword shoved unceremoniously through his ribcage and Stiles staring down at him. The boogeyman.

The emptiness.

The void that chewed apart the young man that Derek came to save. The same young man who slid the blade like butter into his back and listened to it crunch through his front, didn't catch him when he fell, just watched. Just lifted his chin and peered down at the alpha made beta who had ran off to save him. The wolf whose gasps and chokes. Derek- the one who wants to breathe but can't and never believed that he would have anything to see when his life flashed before his eyes until it did.

And now it was.

It comes in waves, hits like the ocean against sharp cliff sides and Derek wonders as he wheezes on the last bit of fight he has left- will they save him?

"Chase me," Stiles whispered excitedly as he slammed his palms against the hood of the jeep and swayed his hips enticingly at Derek who stood next to the passenger door. It was summer and the heat was tedious, boring down on them like a punishment they chose to ignore. Derek chose to ignore it that day because Stiles had stripped his shirt off and left it in a pile next to the tires on his powder blue jeep. He'd ran, laughed, swung his arm out and pulled himself around the trunks of trees. 

Derek had let him get ahead, watched him walk backwards with his hand outstretched, index finger curling back and forth. Derek had let him tease, let him jut his chin out and chuckle softly under his breath as dry leaves and twigs snapped underneath the weight of his converse. 

And when Stiles leaned against a tree and caught his breath, wrapped his hand around the back of Derek's neck and hauled him in, the wolf fell into him like he fell into everything else- with no grace or grandeur, just with momentum and the inability to stop. 

With complete uninhibited desire and a reignited passion he thought had been snuffed out in the soil beneath the house out in the woods all those years ago. 

It had been that day in summer when Stiles nodded his head and reached for Derek's belt, when he stuck his tongue between his teeth and looked over each of his shoulders before shrugging and saying, 'no one will find us.' 

It had been that day in summer, with the sun boring down on them like a punishment, that Derek felt Stiles naked and lean against him for the first time. That day with light dripping over them, casting shadows here and there, that Derek whispered, 'I'm sorry- I don't want to-' and he never got to finish because Stiles grabbed his face and took his lips and made him into something he thought he would never be. 

Derek never did get the chance to tell Stiles that he didn't want to hurt him, but it was alright. It had always been alright with that kid. 

It's starting to hurt, he thinks dryly, eyelids heavy, palms swaying towards the ground where they finally sink. Where his fingertips dig weakly against the concrete. They're in his loft and Stiles hasn't moved, not an inch. He just stares down at Derek and it feels like nothing and it feels like everything and the wolf is tired.

He's so tired.

There was a time in August when Stiles was lighting candles in the loft and Derek pressed himself into the space where his bed met the wall. He closed his eyes so tight that they hurt even in the moments when the bed dipped and Stiles crawled forward, when nimble hands slid down his chest and when he sighed, "I can blow them out if you want."

But Derek hadn't wanted him to blow them out because there was nothing left to burn and he knew that. He knew in that moment, that night in November that what was left charred and disfigured wasn't the man his reflection had showed him all those years. The candles burned slow, left the space smelling like cinnamon and red velvet cake and the wolf felt safe when Stiles nodded and kissed the places that no one else had kissed.

It had been four in the morning when the candles finally burned out and Stiles bumped the curve of his nose against Derek's chin, "I don't know what love is, how it works or-" he waved his hands like he always did, "when it's right but," Stiles swallowed and Derek tried to breathe, "you are worth loving."

Derek never did get the chance to ask Stiles if that meant he loved him or if he didn't. 

But perhaps it didn't matter.

He isn't healing and it's the first time Derek has been scared since Cora almost died. It's the first time he's thinking, it's the first time he's regretting and it's the first time he's faced with everything that isn't blind action. He is faced with slow and steady. He is enduring finality.

And Derek doesn't want to die.

"Stiles," he spits the name, chokes on it, listens to the wheeze of blood soaking the walls of his lungs and god- fuck, he doesn't want to fucking die. There wasn't time to stop him and it was stupid, it was so god damn stupid because Derek had ran in there thinking that he could get him back, that he was the one who could fish him out of the black hole that seemed to cultivate inside the young man that he once called home. 

But all that came out of it was a sword plunged through his body and eyes that belonged to a stranger.

It wasn't perfect.

There had been days where Derek couldn't bring himself to get the right words out and Stiles had been frustrated and they ended up yelling bitterly at each other until one of them- usually Stiles, crowded the other against whatever was closest and ended it with the clank of teeth and the sear of hands over exposed pockets of flesh.

Derek never had complained about their way of solving problems and when Stiles would try to catch his breath while they were fucking in Stiles' room on the nights when the sheriff worked late, Derek would bite at his throat and dig his fingers into the hollow of his hips because the wolf had always been incapable of asking for what he wanted.

And he had always wanted to hear him.

Stiles never did give him exactly what he wanted, only what he needed and some nights Stiles would insist on slow. He would breathe against Derek's ear, sigh and moan soft and sweet the words that Derek never knew he needed to hear. Words that reminded him of more than his strength, but of his beauty and his depth. Stiles would roll his hips like he had been trained in the art of love-making, would pull Derek's forehead down against his own and demand that he open his eyes.

Derek was all blind action and Stiles was all calculation.

Derek wanted rough and familiar while Stiles wanted raw and stripped.

Stiles gave Derek what he needed all those nights and Derek always wanted to tell Stiles that he loved him after.

Please

It's what he wants to say more than anything, not because he wants to beg because Derek Hale doesn't beg. He wants to start with please and end with you

In the middle add I love and see if Stiles' lashes will flutter and those big doe eyes that remind him so fondly of star nurseries and caramel apples and daylight will crack back into existence and he will live.

Because Derek knows he's going to die and all he wants is to know that Stiles will live.

"Come here," wide open palms reached for Derek sometime in September, pulled and tugged at the leather jacket he was wearing. Stiles had taken refuge in the wolf's loft sometime after Scott found out about them and every day after school he would stroll in with his backpack in one hand and Chinese takeout in the other. 

That day had been different than others. That day had been significant and no matter how many times Derek had assured himself as well as everyone else that the past was in the past- Stiles knew. 

Derek thought that maybe it was his own personal connection with death but on that day in September Derek remembered the smell of his mother’s perfume. He remembered the way Laura used to leave her paint brushes strewn across the house and how his cousins would come over and jump on his bed. He remembered and Stiles held him and it didn't hurt as bad.

Fuck, it's heavy. It's so heavy- where is Scott? Where is everyone? Derek wants to stand up, he wants to move, he wants to squirm but this isn't right. Nothing is right. He isn't healing, he needs to heal and Stiles... Stiles just tilts his head and Derek doesn't recognize him.

There's blood- his blood, and it's soaking into the soles of Stiles' shoes and Derek is curious to know if he'll wash them after this or carry Derek with him when he leaves. He thinks about trying to talk again but his throat won't push anything out except a few more drops of red and a throbbing in his chest that won't subside. 

Derek pretends not to hear the gurgle of fluid in his trachea and he closes his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Derek had asked Stiles so nonchalantly when the teenager knocked on the large metal door. He had stood there, all lanky and gorgeous with his hands shoved in his mouth, chewing on his nails like they had done something to him. 

Worry had been the first emotion, worry and then wonder and then complete and utter denial because Derek couldn't possibly be wanted by this boy. He couldn't possibly be wanted by anyone frankly and Stiles? Well, Stiles was just far too intelligent for him.

The second thing Derek asked that day years ago was, "What about Lydia?"

And Stiles hadn't answered, he'd just bounced on the tips of his toes and licked over his bottom lip for the fifth time and rubbed the pads of his fingers together. He had nodded, curt and quick, leaned forward and almost missed Derek's mouth. If the wolf hadn't moved, swerved and caught Stiles' lips in his own it would have been more of a catastrophe than it already was. 

Their first kiss was clumsy and brief, a firm press of their mouths and a flutter in Derek's lower abdomen before Stiles pulled away and blinked, looked at Derek like he was looking at something dangerous and he was- he most certainly was. 

But Derek was brave and he ducked back down to kiss Stiles properly, like he deserved to be kissed. The wolf cupped his jaw and exhaled through his nose, melted into the boy with hands far too big for his wrists and wit too profound for Derek to understand. There were jitters and there was a gasp and there was Stiles' tongue, soft and warm, and his hands so incredibly hesitant as they reached for Derek's waist and Derek just pushed right into them because, yes, please... Touch me. 

That was all he wanted to say back then.

It doesn't hurt anymore and Derek guesses that's because it's starting to end. All of it. It isn't ending in fire- which he expected and it isn't ending in age which he daydreamed about often. It's ending at the end of a blunt sword on the floor of his loft at the hands of a boy who he took for a man. It's ending in darkness and Derek thinks that it could be okay.

He read somewhere that euphoria is a state that comes before death, with the remembrance and the regret, with the memories and the hushed whispers that still sounded clear as day in his mind. Derek doesn't want euphoria. He wants raw. And he wants stripped. He wants candle light and the dry leaves of the preserve. He wants Stiles and he wants to live.

But in the end- this is the end.

And he only gets to hope.

So green eyes look up and he inhales shakily through his nose, searches deep for Stiles in the vacancy that has taken residence across his face. The stranger that is currently occupying the body Derek came to memorize- the young man he learned to love. 

And he finds defeat. 

When the door slides open it is far over-due and when Derek's vision starts to falter all he catches is Stiles shrinking away from a cloud of dark dust. He wants to cough but there's too much in his throat, too much blood, too many words, he doesn't know. All he knows is that the ground is vibrating with footsteps and everyone sounds like they're shouting across a football field. 

Scott yells for Stiles.

It's dark and Derek wants to live.

He swears it's Stiles' hands on his face. He can feel the way they shake. And he swears it's Stiles' voice he hears through the clatter when Isaac wraps his hands around the handle and pulls the sword from his body. Derek can't open his eyes and Derek can't breathe and he wants to move and he wants to talk but it doesn't hurt anymore and he remembers what Stiles looked like that day he said 'chase me' all wild and young and beautiful and mischievous and Derek wants to reach for him.

It isn't in the days that pass that Derek wonders if he will ever wake up. He doesn't know if he's alive or if this is it, if this curiosity of limbo- this place he's found himself in is what's left over. If this is what it's like to die. If this is where he waits.

But it takes twenty-eight hours before the beta does live and god, it feels good to live. It's takes twenty-eight hours for Derek to open his eyes and find himself alone in a bed that isn't his own in a house that reeks of Scott and Kira and Melissa. It takes him twenty-eight hours to take in a breath and it takes him twelve seconds to recognize the taste on his tongue and then it's there, the salt, the sweet, the woods, the campfire that always was Stiles and could never be anything but Stiles.

He's standing in the corner chewing on his nails and he looks at Derek like he's scared and he looks at Derek like he's guilty and he looks at Derek like he wants to run to him but he can't.

And Derek recognizes him.

Derek is blind action.

And he gets up far too fast but he doesn't wince and he doesn't stop, he just walks forward because that is his Stiles and he is alive but two hands too large for their wrists shoot out and Stiles whimpers.

"I almost killed you," he shakes and Derek can smell his tears before they start to slide down his face, "I almost killed you," Stiles repeats and he chokes on a sob.

The wolf steps forward but Stiles is hissing and Stiles is backing up further into the wall, all wide eyes and pursed lips and angry crying, "Derek! I almost fucking-"

"I love you," he doesn't wait for approval, "I love you," Derek repeats and kisses Stiles like he deserves to be kissed. 

When Stiles falls to his knees, Derek follows and when Stiles lunges forward and slams his mouth against Derek's he spells out his regret and breathes it like renewal between their lips. 

Derek is blind action and Stiles is calculation.

Stiles is raw and stripped, Derek rough and familiar.

But Stiles is clawing at him, pulling at his face, whispering 'I'm sorry' like a chorus into frantic presses and devouring movements. He's holding Derek like he's made of glass and Derek isn't letting him go because this is it. This is the fight. This is protecting the ones he loves, this is sacrifice and this is real. This is Stiles smiling at him from across the room on mornings when Derek slept in and Stiles is making tea on the stove in nothing but sweatpants. This is 'I love you' written in movements and in glances and in words. 

"You are worth loving," Derek doesn't hesitate to press the words into Stiles' throat.

"You are worth everything."

++++


End file.
